


Cinnamon & Rum

by Iverna



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-05-03 19:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14575845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/pseuds/Iverna
Summary: A collection of short one-shots that I've posted on Tumblr, all about the pirate and the princess. Rating will vary - mostly G, but I'm rating the collection higher to be safe. If any of these get smutty, there will be a warning at the beginning.





	1. Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternative take on the engagement, just because.

 

When they break the news, after the obligatory hugs and congratulations, Snow demands to see the ring.

Emma holds out her hand. The ring is a slender silver loop, a delicate engraved feather curled over it. There’s no stone. It isn’t smooth and perfect like a ring from a shop, and Snow seems to notice, because there’s a question in her eyes when she looks back up at Emma.

Emma shrugs, as if it’s not a big deal, as if it didn’t bring tears to her eyes last night. _I know this is a little unorthodox, love, and if you say the word I’ll buy one at the jeweller’s,_ _but I wanted it to_ mean _something, so.._ _._ “He made it.”

“He made—” Snow’s eyes snap to Killian, who shoots Emma a quick, betrayed look and then also shrugs, reaching up to scratch at his neck.

“I _was_ a blacksmith for a brief time,” he says, as if that explains everything.

“You _pretended_ to be a blacksmith,” Snow says, still incredulous.

“Aye, well, it’s rather difficult to feign expertise in something for weeks without picking up a few things, as it were,” Killian says easily.

“It’s beautiful,” Snow says, reaching for Emma’s hand again and peering at the ring. “David, look at it.”

David sighs. “Is this the part where you complain that I didn’t make you a ring?”

“No.” Snow turns to him and gives him the kind of adoring look that makes people believe in true love. “I love mine. I love the story behind it. I always wanted that for you, too,” she adds, to Emma. “And I guess you got it, huh.”

“Yeah,” Emma says softly. “Yeah. I did.”

David’s fingers brush over hers, a proud smile on his face. “It suits you,” is all he says, but Emma can hear a world of meaning in those words. It does suit her—because Killian _knows_ her, because he put thought into this, because he put work into it before he ever even met her.

David nods at her. Then he straightens, and fixes Killian with a stern look. “You didn’t even ask me.”

“Ask you?” Killian echoes. “Sorry, mate, it’s just that I fancy Emma more than you. And you are already married, after all.”

“What?” David lets his shoulders drop, exasperated. “I meant for my blessing, you blackguard.”

Killian grins at him, irreverent as ever. Emma laughs. “Fine. Dad. Do we have your blessing?”

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair,” David protests, but his eyes are full of laughter. “You know I can’t deny you anything.”

Emma doesn’t have an answer to that, because he means it, and it’s still a bit too much sometimes.

Before she can even start to panic, though, Killian nudges her, and stage-whispers, “Excellent. Ask him if he’ll pay for the wedding.”

Snow bursts out laughing. So does Emma. And so, after a valiant attempt at a glower, does David.

(He doesn’t pay for the wedding.)


	2. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here’s some Emma introspection and banter with Hook during the EF adventure in the season 3 finale!

Rain begins to fall as they trudge through the forest, and Emma draws up the hood of her borrowed—without permission, but Hook insists that it isn’t theft when you intend to give it back, and she’s going with it—cloak as she walks. It makes it that bit harder not to worry. With her face shielded from the man striding along at her side, it’s a lot more tempting to just give up and let the churning fear in her gut show.

The scent of the forest rises around her, wet leaves and damp moss. It’s almost soothing, the soft, drizzling rain and the close, deep green shade of the trees.

At least, it would be if she hadn’t just jeopardised her entire future, and her son’s along with it.

“We’re going to set it to rights, you know,” Hook says. Either he’s picked up on her worry, or trying to dispel his own; she doesn’t want to look at him to make sure.

Her words come out harsher than she intends, as usual. “Yeah? When did you become an optimist?”

“Not an optimist, love, a realist,” he says, deftly ducking past a branch and giving it an entirely unnecessary swipe with his hook as he passes. “You haven’t faded from existence, therefore, we haven’t irreparably ruined anything.”

He has a point. He’s also being pretty generous in using the word “we”. She’s pretty sure this one is completely on her.

She wants to argue, just out of habit, but he’s right. And he’s being nice, even though this is all her fault. “Yeah,” she says. “I just hope it stays that way.”

“As do I.” His voice might roughen a little as he says it; she can’t be sure, with the rain sizzling on the foliage around her and the wind catching under her hood, in her hair. He clears his throat. “But not to worry. They may not have met yet, but there’s still time. Given the way they met, I highly doubt they set about conceiving you any time soon afterwards.”

She makes a face. “Can we not discuss that, please?”

“Oh come now, love, you know how it works, no need to pretend.” There’s a teasing tone in his voice now.

With the hood, she has to twist her entire upper body to glare at him, but she makes the effort. “When it comes to my parents, I’d rather pretend.”

He grins at her. His hair is beginning to get damp with the rain, the ends curling up a little. “I’m merely pointing out that we can’t possibly have disturbed the timeline at a point where it affects you.”

She almost stumbles on the uneven ground as she keeps her eyes on him to give him a look. “Uh-huh. Sure you are.”

“Careful, love,” he says, gesturing ahead. The path narrows, passing through slightly higher ground, grass-covered embankments on either side of it.

Emma stands back, and smirks at him. “Age before beauty.”

He laughs, a genuine laugh, and Emma realises that it’s a sound she’s rarely heard. It fills her with a stupid kind of pride, a warm feeling in her chest at the knowledge that she’s made Captain Hook laugh. It’s a deep, happy sound, and it seems to linger in the space between the trees, oddly enclosed between them. It puts a spark into his blue eyes, and she wants to hear it again.

“You are hell on a man’s ego, Swan,” he says, before turning to swagger along the narrow path. His coat brushes the overhanging grass, shaking off the drops that have gathered there.

“Yours can take it,” she says to his back, as she follows him. Her skirt is so long and bulky that it almost gets caught at the sides, and she’s sure that it’s getting drenched, but there’s nothing for it. That’s one advantage to Enchanted Forest clothing: layers upon layers.

In fact, the Enchanted Forest doesn’t feel nearly as daunting or foreign as the last time she was here. There’s something familiar and almost reassuring about it this time. The smell of earth and foliage reminds her of the forest in Storybrooke, and of trudging through the forest with her mother and Aurora and Mulan the last time she was here.

She never spent much time in forests, prior to coming to Storybrooke. They’re fascinating places, at once soothing and a little alarming, strong and ancient and alive in a way she can’t quite explain. It feels almost like an embrace—though she feels silly for thinking that the moment the thought surfaces.

Still, she wonders what it would have been like to grow up here. To belong here.

“I don’t know,” Hook says, looking over his shoulder at her. The spark is still in his eyes. “I think if anyone is up to the task of destroying my ego, it’s you.”

And that’s new, too, of course. She’s not alone. She has her trudge-through-the-forest partner with her.

“Aww,” she says, unable to help herself. “Want me to go easy on you?”

He laughs again, his eyes a little more intent on hers for a moment. “Never.”

They keep walking, and argue-bantering as they do. The rain, Emma realises belatedly, has stopped again. She lowers her hood. The worry doesn’t retreat with it, but it’s been banished to a small corner of her mind for now.

It’s hard to worry when the forest is so vast and old and wise all around her, and she has to concentrate on her footing, and not letting Hook have the last word.


	3. Demands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Captain Swan + "I'm gonna save my other princess"

“Took you long enough,” were the words that greeted him when he finally burst into the cell, the unconscious guard falling into the room with him.

Killian stumbled a little, but kept his balance, raising an eyebrow at the woman chained to the wall below the cell’s tiny window. Bedraggled and rather the worse for wear, her clothes dirty and her hair matted and falling into her face, Emma still managed to be the most beautiful woman he knew. “My apologies for the delay, love. I was a little tied up myself.”

Emma gave him a narrow-eyed look as he turned his attention to the chains around her wrists, assessing how best to prise them off with his hook without injuring her in the process. “And, what, you had to enjoy that a bit first, did you?”

He grinned at her. “Without you? Hardly.”

Her eyes glinted with amusement, though she kept her tone and expression dry — hiding her relief, he knew. “You gonna keep flirting, or do you want to get me out of here?”

“Of course, love.” He grabbed hold of the manacles with his hand, and struck. Metal sparked against metal, and one of the chains popped loose. “Any other demands while you’re about it? Could I get you a drink, perhaps? Rub your feet?”

“A lock pick, maybe,” Emma shot back, as she shifted her stance a little to give him a little more space for the next strike. It was his turn to scowl at her; the subject of finesse was a long-standing argument between them. He had plenty of finesse with his hook, thank you very much.

“Perhaps I’ll leave you here and go save my other princess,” he grumbled, but he slashed at the remaining manacle anyway, breaking it apart.

Emma pushed away from the wall on slightly unsteady feet, rubbing her wrists. She fell against his side in a deliberate way, nudging his shoulder. “You wouldn’t. You’d miss me too much.”

“Aye,” he agreed easily, pulling her against him and pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “You raise a good point.”


	4. Feeling Your Heart Beating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Captain Swan + lyrics. (Set sometime during season 3, possibly canon divergence.)

_Lying close to you, feeling your heart beating_  
_And I'm wondering what you're dreaming_  
_Wondering if it's me you're seeing..._

 

He meant the hug as a comforting gesture, a curl of his arm around her shoulders to reassure her that she isn’t alone. Emma leans into him, and he can feel the tension leave her body as her head comes to rest on his chest. He lets his eyes drift shut and takes a moment to savour the contact, the simple warmth of it, the swelling in his chest at the trust it implies.

He’s about to move and suggest she join the lad belowdecks when he realises that she’s fallen asleep. Her breath fans across his chest, soft and even, and her hand is tangled in his collar, motionless.

Killian almost stops breathing himself, for fear of disturbing her now. He can feel her heart beat against his side where she’s curled into him. A gentle, steady rhythm against his ribs, joining the beat of his own. A slow _thud, thud, thud,_ like a code tapped against a wall, asking for entry.

He’d grant it if he could. It’s hers for the taking if she wants it. (If only she wants it.)

The bloom of warmth in his chest is joined by a quiet, desperate ache as he thinks, wonders, whether this means something. Emma Swan, asleep in his arms, is a fantasy he hasn’t yet allowed himself to hope for. He’s thought about it, yes; it was one of the first signs that this is no mere infatuation. He’s yearned to be able to hold her like this.

He wonders if she’s ever thought about it, or if this was pure impulse, a spur-of-the-moment reaction she gave no thought to. With Emma, it could go either way. He has no idea whether he ever appears in her dreams, much as she haunts his.

(Though nightmares are probably more likely, at least after their initial encounter. He has those, too, though his are fuelled by fear for her, not fear of her. He hopes her dreams, whatever they are, are good.)

And now here she is. Just like that. No grand declarations, no lead-up whatsoever, just a small sigh and a simple shift in position and here she is.

It’s so _Emma_ that he can’t help but smile, grinning like a fool up at the sky as he leans his head back.

She probably _hasn’t_ thought about it. And the fact that she’s here anyway, like it’s natural, like she doesn’t even have to think about it, means…

He closes his eyes, still smiling, trying to rein in the desperate, wild hope that wants to seize hold of him. Maybe he really does have a chance. ( _Maybe, maybe, maybe,_ his heart beats.)

It’s more than he deserves. But he’ll do his best to prove worthy of it, all the same.


	5. Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Captain Swan + lyrics.

_Ooh love_   
_No one's ever gonna hurt you love_   
_I'm gonna give you all of my love_   
_Nobody matters like you_   
_Your life ain't gonna be nothing like my life_   
_You're gonna grow and have a good life_   
_I'm gonna do what I got to do_

 

Eva runs away about a month after she came to live with them.

It’s just as well that the lady in the group home warned them; even knowing it, Emma’s heart won’t stop racing with fear, thoughts of witches and dragons and flying monkeys overriding her reason.

“We’ll find her,” her father assures her, though his eyes are shadowed with memory. He knows what it is to lose a child, after all.

Emma nods, and hands him a flashlight. “I know.”

“Let’s get on with it, then,” Killian says, the words harsher than he means them. He’s pale and haunted, but his face is set in familiar, angry determination, ready to tear the whole town apart to find his daughter.

Self-recriminations and doubts whirl around Emma’s mind as they set off. Does Eva not like it with them, after all? Have they not done enough, been enough, loved her enough?

Emma is the one who finds her, huddled in a corner of the play park, knees drawn up against her tiny body as if to ward off the falling night.

“Killian!” she shouts in the direction where she last saw him. “She’s here!”

She hurries forward. Eva looks up at her approach, dark eyes wide and defiant-fearful, her mop of hair untidier than ever.

“Hey,” Emma says, and falls to her knees in front of her. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, what are you doing here?”

Eva shrugs.

Emma reaches for her, and gently pulls her into her arms. The child goes willingly, folding into the embrace with an ease that still surprises Emma.

Then Killian is there, his arm brushing Emma’s back as he hunkers down beside her. “There you are.” His relief is palpable as he, too, hugs their daughter.

But then he pulls away, and holds Eva out at arm’s length. “Don’t you ever do that again. Do you understand me?”

Eva’s lip trembles at his tone, and Emma gets it.

She never wanted to run away. All she wanted was to be found.

“We’ve been _worried_ ,” Emma says, gently but firmly. “Eva, honey, when we realised you were gone, we got really scared. How would you feel, if we were just gone one day?”

Eva shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears. “Dunno,” she mumbles. And then, quietly, desperately, “I don’t wanna go back.”

“To the group home?” Emma asks, her heart wrenching, wanting to punch everyone who ever sent this frustrating, wonderful, precious child away again.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to come home?” Killian asks, and his voice is gentle now, too, a tone Emma knows all too well. A question for a lost girl, asked with earnest blue eyes and the hint of a smile.

Eva gives him a tremulous look. Then she nods, and the tears spill over, and Killian catches her in his arms and holds her tight.

“Eva,” Killian says, letting out a long breath, and Emma hears the echo all of his fears and losses in that sound. “I promise you, no matter what, we will always find you. As many times as it takes.”

Emma reaches out to stroke a hand over Eva’s curls, leaning in to kiss her temple. “Yep,” she says, and she’s never meant a vow more than this one, simple as it is. “Always.”


	6. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Captain Swan + lyrics. This one gets a bit smutty - skip it if you're not into that!

_I once was poison ivy, but now I’m your daisy_   
_And baby, for you, I would fall from grace_   
_Just to touch your face_   
_If you walk away_   
_I’d beg you on my knees to stay_

 

He can’t stay away from her.

He’s tried, oh, he’s tried. He’s told himself lie after lie—he doesn’t want her, doesn’t need her, she’s just another woman, just another tryst.

But when she calls, he answers. And when she’s near him, he can’t look away, can’t walk away, can’t think, can’t stop.

Her reputation is as fierce as his. The most powerful witch in the realm, and he is caught in her snare, a willing victim. His reputation means nothing now, Captain Hook a mere spectre whenever he’s with her. If he were still a Navy lieutenant, he knows, he would have lost his commission and his good name by now, and it wouldn’t have stopped him.

He knows that he has no business dallying with the realm’s most powerful witch. He’s playing with fire. Some days, he thinks he’s already half-engulfed in flames.

But for her, he thinks he might burn willingly.

Her kiss is hungry and demanding and impossibly soft. He falls into it, his arms around her, never close enough.

“Killian,” she says on a gasp, in the scant space between them, her breath brushing over his collarbones. The sound of his name on her lips stokes the fire, and he slants his mouth back over hers, pushing her back against the wall. She laughs, a low thrill, and tugs at his shirt.

She pulls him with her onto her kitchen table, heedless of the crockery that falls down behind her, intent on him, only him. He wants to fall to his knees, and he does, caressing her with his hand and tongue until she’s bucking her hips into him and throwing her head back and moaning his name again.

He lays her down on the bed and covers her body with his, kissing his way from her ear to her navel and back. Her eyes close in rapture as he touches and teases her, grinding into her slow and dirty and so, so good.

She ties him to the headboard with a wave of her hand, and he groans as the rope digs into his wrists, the anticipation alone almost enough to undo him. She hovers over him, wild and untamed and beautiful, and his muscles strain as he yearns towards her.

“Patience,” she says, her voice low and husky, her smile wicked.

“Emma,” he manages. “Gods, _Emma_.”

“Mhmm?” She scoots forward to straddle him, and it’s too much and not enough and incredible, feeling her skin against his, teasing him with every little touch. He tries to keep still, but she knows how to touch him, knows how to drive him just close enough to the edge.

“Emma,” he pleads, shifting his hips, straining to get closer, just a little closer, just a little more.

“What?” she asks, a devilish gleam in her eyes. It suits her, even as it torments him; he wants to see more of it, more of her. He can’t look at her without wanting, but he can’t look away.

She grinds her hips against him again, and then she moves back and leans over so she can take him in her mouth, just a few teasing, torturing licks.

“Emma,” he says on another groan, and she hums a little in appreciation of how he sounds, and he gives up. “Please. _Please_.”

“This?” she asks, sliding forward a little so that he can feel how wet she is, how much she wants him, too. Her eyes are dark and met his like a wave crashing into the ship, throwing him off course.

“Aye,” he grits out, more breath than voice. “More… please, love, I… _please_.”

She grins, sinfully wicked, and slowly, slowly, she sinks down onto him. Her eyes flutter closed, and he wants to weep at how good it feels, how right, how perfect.

The flames roar around him, and he knows he’d beg to keep burning.


	7. Pirate Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Killian kept the pirate outfit.

“Uh, Killian?”

He pauses in the midst of re-organising his things, to find Emma’s eyes on the long leather coat he’s draped over a chair. “Yes?”

“You’re not, uh…” She looks at him, back at the coat, back at him, a little too casual. “You’re not planning on getting rid of that, are you?”

He knows that look. He knows that voice, too. And the ever-so-slight flush that’s creeping up her neck because she knows that he knows.

In truth, he wasn’t sure about getting rid of the coat. He doesn’t need his old clothes anymore, and long years spent aboard ship have ingrained in him a deep reluctance to keep anything that isn’t needed, but at the same time… he’s had it for a long time. It fits him perfectly. And…

“I don’t know,” he says, and grins a challenge at her. “I don’t really have much of a use for it anymore, and it does take up quite a lot of space.”

She narrows her eyes. “We’ve got tons of space.”

“Why, Swan, do you have a use for it in mind?” he asks, still grinning.

“It’s a coat. You wear it. Along with that all that other… pirate stuff.”

“I have other clothes to wear now.”

She shrugs, a grin tugging at her lips, because she knows that he knows. And he knows that she knows. He raises an eyebrow, smirking. She lets out a dramatic, put-upon sigh.

“Admit it,” he says. “You like the coat and the pirate stuff.”

"I don’t hate it.”

“You love it.”

“… I do.”


	8. Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> … in which the baby picks the worst time to sleep, at least in Killian’s opinion… but he and Emma know to take advantage of pretty much anything.

From the moment Emma told him that he was going to be a father—and before that, even, if he’s perfectly honest—Killian has known that he’d show the child his ship as soon as he could.

He didn’t imagine it, per se; he just knew it would happen. No day dreams, no specific expectations, just the knowledge that he is a pirate captain and his child is going to grow up knowing the ship.

He wasn’t counting on his two-month-old daughter finding a way to thwart even expectations he didn’t have.

It’s been a challenge, adjusting to life with an infant. There’s a reason why it’s taken them this long to feel up to a family outing; he and Emma are both exhausted after too many sleepless nights. But they’ve had a little luck lately, and it’s a glorious day, and Henry has been very patient... and it’s time.

He strides up the ramp, Hope tucked against his chest in a sling that Mary Margaret gave them. Henry has hurried on ahead with the picnic supplies; Emma brings up the rear, carrying the diaper bag.

“All right,” Emma says as she joins him. “How are we doing?”

Killian looks down at the baby. She’s fast asleep.

And she stays asleep, tucked into the little portable bassinet beside the ship’s wheel, blissfully unaware of anything going on around her.

“Not very excited, is she,” Henry comments, grinning at Killian.

“Aye, she’s betraying her heritage,” Killian grumbles, with a fondly exasperated look at Hope.

Emma laughs. “Oh, no. You’re gonna have to disown her.”

“Never,” he vows, before directing a mock glare at the sleeping child. “Though a stern talk may be in order later.”

“Uh-huh. Bad form to sleep while Papa’s trying to show off his swashbuckling,” Emma tells Hope, her eyes glinting. Henry laughs, looking far too delighted.

“I can’t believe she refuses to sleep through the night, but she’ll sleep through this,” Killian says, playing up the grumbling a little.

“Maybe she’ll sleep tonight,” Emma says, sounding far too hopeful.

They do their best not to wake her once they’re back in the harbour. But, true to form, Hope wakes up once they’re back home. And she stays that way for most of the night. Emma rocks her, and Killian sings to her, and they take turns walking around with her... but still, Hope does not settle.

“Killian?” Emma says eventually, poking his leg.

“Aye?” He’s awake, just about, dozing on and off as the baby cries and squirms and complains about things he has no hope of understanding.

“I think maybe we were onto something earlier,” she says. “I’m gonna drive back down to the harbour, okay?”

“I’ll come with you,” he says at once, swinging his legs out of bed.

The ship is moored, swaying gently with the waves as they climb aboard, a lot less energetically than earlier. But, miraculously, the crying stops shortly after they arrive on deck.

“Let’s go below,” Emma whispers.

The bed in the captain’s quarters is narrow, but they both fit, even with the baby cradled in Emma’s arms. Hope has stopped fussing, and shortly after they’ve settled on the bed, she’s fast asleep.

“I don’t believe it,” Emma says, relief dripping from every word. “Oh my god. She’s asleep.”

“Good,” he says, with feeling, already half-asleep himself again.

It becomes the new routine very quickly. Killian half-moves back onto the ship, taking the baby whenever he can to give Emma a chance to sleep, and catching up himself.

He should have known, really, he thinks fondly, looking down at his daughter’s drowsy face as the ship rocks her better than he ever could. He sings a lullaby, his low voice harmonising with the waves lapping against the hull and the creaking of the ancient wooden planks. Hope’s eyes drift shut, and stay that way, and he smiles.

She has the sea in her blood, after all.


	9. Wardrobe Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of dumb banter set during the season 3 finale, based on Killian Jones’ dislike for any and all clothes that are not his.

“Why is it,” Killian grumbles as they walk along the road towards King Midas’ castle, “that every time a villain makes plans for me, I end up in ridiculous clothes?”

Emma takes the excuse to sneak another once-over. He looks different, in the more aristocratic get-up, but she can’t say that it’s really a downgrade.

Then again, he’d look good wearing a potato sack. Or nothing at all.

Oh, no, that’s a bad thought.

“Ridiculous?” she asks, hurrying to keep the conversation going and her thoughts engaged elsewhere.

“First the blacksmith rags, now this,” Killian goes on, scowling.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Vain, aren’t you?”

“It’s not vanity, I just don’t see why the wardrobe change was necessary.”

“Because we can’t go to a ball dressed like a pirate and a peasant woman?”

“I’ll grant that yours was necessary,” Killian says. “And, if anything, you look even more stunning. Mine, however, was not.”

He breezes past the compliment as if it wasn’t one, as if he’s just stating facts. That makes it worse. Emma clears her throat. “You don’t think it’d be kind of a giveaway?”

“My _face_ is a giveaway, love, and the crocodile changed that.”

“I don’t think they’d let you in, dressed like a pirate.”

“Ah, but think what a striking pair we’d make,” Killian says with a grin. “They might let us in just for the curiosity of it.”

Emma doesn’t want to think about what kind of pair they make. Or rather, she does, which is why she doesn’t. “The whole point is to avoid drawing attention.”

“Again, he already changed our faces for that.”

She can’t help laughing. He looks so offended, and it’s a welcome bit of normalcy in this crazy situation they’ve ended up in. “Look on the bright side. At least no one will know it’s you. No damage to your reputation, or whatever.”

“Aye, except for you,” he points out.

She shakes her head, still grinning. “Secret’s safe with me.”

“I feel _so_ much better.”

“Hey.” She nudges him with her shoulder as they walk. “I think you look good.”

He looks surprised, and then his eyes soften a little, and she hurries to add, “For a spoiled prince, I mean.”

He narrows his eyes, and nudges her back. “You need to work on your royal manners.”

“You need to work on not whining.”

“I was _not_ whining.”

“Sure you weren’t. ‘ _Oh, no, my dashing pirate clothes.._.’”

“Dashing, are they?”

“I didn’t say that, you did.”

“No, _you_ did. _I_ don’t sound like that.”

“You do when you’re whining.”

They keep bickering as they walk on, towards the castle and whatever awaits them there.


End file.
